


sweet delight

by prowlish



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Fluff and Smut, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Morning Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Self-Indulgent, Spooning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-01-01
Packaged: 2018-03-04 16:58:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3074867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prowlish/pseuds/prowlish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drift wakes up on a lazy morning.</p><p>Happy new year, everyone!</p>
            </blockquote>





	sweet delight

**Author's Note:**

> I saw a table of NSFW prompts, and one that caught my eye was "sex while spooning."
> 
> And, well. This happened. What better way to ring in the new year than with completely indulgent robot smut?

A lazy morning was something Drift loved best -- when his duty shift was distant, the medibay quiet (or at least held down well enough by First Aid and Ambulon), and he could simply shift back and feel the steady, reassuring warmth of Ratchet at his back. As he moved, he felt Ratchet’s arm, slung around his waist, tighten and pull him closer.

 

The white bot hummed happily at that, and pressed even further, molding his flexible back to Ratchet’s sturdy front. And then the medic’s hand shifted, creeping towards Drift’s pelvic plating, and Drift laughed softly. He turned his helm just slightly. “How long were you waiting on me to wake up?” Drift teased.

 

He grinned as he felt Ratchet muffle a snort into the back of his neck. The medic didn’t reply, except to trail his hand even lower, flirting around the seams of Drift’s panels. Heat bloomed in his frame and Drift shifted again, letting his thighs part a little. Optics shuttering, he revved his engine, a prickle of anticipation warming his interface equipment as Ratchet’s fingers circled on the plating right over his valve.

 

Ratchet hummed softly against Drift’s audio, making the swordsmech shiver. It didn’t take much more than that for his interface covers to pop open, and Drift swore he felt Ratchet smile against the base of his audial sensor. The fingers that had teased over the panel covering his valve now traced around its rim, teasing, dragging through whatever lubricant was there and rubbing his fingertips around that node just outside his valve. The white bot gasped, the plating on his thighs trembling as he angled his hips into  _that_  touch. His spike, untouched for the moment, pressurized quickly as Ratchet coyly stoked a charge in Drift’s systems.

 

Through it all, Drift could feel how  _hot_  Ratchet’s frame was against his, and he let out a soft chuckle. “Hmm… what got you all worked up?” he teased.

 

Ratchet’s engine rumbled. “Sometimes just waking up to you does that,” he murmured, voice rough against Drift’s audio. He moved his hand from Drift’s valve, tracing the generous curve of one hip up to the slim dip of his waist.

 

Drift licked his lips. “‘Sometimes’?”

 

He swore he  _heard_  Ratchet roll his optics. “And sometimes your hellishness pursues me even in a recharge cycle,” he remarked.

 

Ah. Drift chuckled. “Mm, sounds like  _someone  _had a good dream,” he said, the tease cut off by a gasp as Ratchet’s hand moved down again and brushed over his spike.

 

“I prefer the reality.”

 

Drift had to say he agreed. Especially with Ratchet’s hand wrapped around his spike, stroking it in a lazy rhythm that was easy to roll his hips into. “Ratchet…” he murmured. The medic’s engine rumbled against his back again, giving his plating a pleasant buzz.

 

After a few moments, Ratchet moved his hand back to Drift’s hip; he’d shifted his weight slightly, the arm Ratchet had been laying on was now in a position to tease the point of one sensitive audio, making Drift shiver in pleasure even as he whined the loss of the hand around his spike. “Hold still,” he grunted, his hand squeezing at the red plating of Drift’s thigh.

 

Drift did his best to stop squirming, though he could do nothing about the tremble of anticipation in his frame. He could feel Ratchet’s spike, hot and ready against his back, and when the medic shifted again, he started to lift his leg again, give a little room -- expecting something else rather than Ratchet pushing his thighs together again, a little. Drift felt the medic shift forward again, pushing his spike between his legs, backstruts arching as its length teased the entrance of his valve.

 

Ratchet shifted his hips back a little, before thrusting between those ample thighs again, and they both moaned. “Ratchet -- ” Drift gasped out.

 

The medic quickly set a brisk pace, groaning against the back of Drift’s neck, as Drift shivered and squeezed his legs tighter together. The length of Ratchet’s spike dragging over his valve and rubbing against his external node was driving Drift mad with desire, and just as he got restless again -- Ratchet wrapped that hand around Drift’s spike again.

 

Caught between the sensations, Drift practically writhed -- into the firm grasp of the medic’s hand, or against the spike thrusting between his thighs, it didn’t matter. Both were incredible, and all overwhelming.

 

Ratchet picked up his pace, grunting and groaning against Drift’s neck; Drift could feel the promise of Ratchet’s overload in the erratic thrusts, the lick of charge crackling from Ratchet’s field to his own, and every added sensation only built him higher. Incredibly, Ratchet still managed to time his hand squeezing and stroking Drift’s spike with the thrust of his own hips, making Drift moan again and again. “C’mon, kid,” Ratchet grunted, rocking his hips again once, twice, and twisting his hand -- and Drift came undone.

 

As his systems booted from the overload, Drift felt Ratchet’s wash through his field, like all he’d been waiting on was the release of energy from the swordsmech. Knowing Ratchet, it was probably true. But those particulars were less important than laying close with Ratchet, his legs sticky with both their fluids, their frames hot but unwilling to move even an inch away. Drift pressed back against Ratchet’s front, his vents whirring high, and a ridiculously wide smile on his lips.

 

After a moment -- or several, he wasn’t much paying attention to time -- Drift turned around in Ratchet’s grasp and kissed him softly and lazily. “You really know how to wake a bot up,” Drift said with a smirk.

 

Ratchet snorted, tugging Drift in close again. “Who said I was done?” he murmured, and kissed Drift again.

**Author's Note:**

> visit me on [@prowlish](https://twitter.com/prowlish) on twitter!! :)


End file.
